


Let's Run Away

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabbles - Drarry [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months following the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco have hidden themselves away in a secret cottage inherited from Sirius with dreams of leaving the wartorn country behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Run Away

Harry flopped down on the sofa seeming without any regard for the other already seated there. He’d come back to the cottage and immediately changed into something comfortable. He hated the robes of the wizengmont, and always waited for the last minute to put them on. And the first second to take them back off again.  
       ”Ron tried to force me to come along to the Burrow,” he said, uncaring that the man who’s thigh he now used as a pillow was trying to read. “When that didn’t work he tried to guilt me into it. As if I didn’t have enough guilt weighing on me with everything.” He waved an arm around as if to illustrate how much the word _everything_ encompassed.  
       ”Are you going to keep complaining?”  
       ”Probably,” Harry said, pulling his legs up to rest his socked feet against the base of the arm at the end. “Are you going to keep pretending to ignore me?”  
       ”Most likely.” But the words were spoken with the barest hint of a smile.  
       Harry caught it and his heart sped up just a little. It always had when he saw that expression. Most would think it one of Malfoy’s many masks. The half-smirk, Harry had used to call it until he realized what it truly was. That one expression, free of the masks, that was only for him. Had always been only for him. He just didn’t know it until it had almost been too late.  
       ”Hermione’s upset that I haven’t brought her back home with me.”  
       ”We can’t very well let anyone know where you live,” Draco said, turning the page of his book. He had lost track of the story when Harry had come home. Now he only turned the pages for appearance sake. “Especially Granger and the Weasel.”  
       ”They’re my friends.”  
       ”Yes. And they’re still convinced that I’ve put you under some sort of love potion.” He closed his book, giving up all pretense of distraction. With a sigh he reached over the arm of the couch and let it fall to the floor with all of the others. “And I don’t want the Weaslet finding out where we are. She still won’t give up on you.”  
       ”Ginny’s not that bad.”  
       Draco debated whether or not to tell his lover how deep his hatred for the red haired she-weasel went. It was beyond a mere dislike. Mere annoyance and frustration at her persistant passes at his lover. No. The scars on his chest were a constant reminder of how deep their mutual hatred ran. In the end, he decided not to give voice to it. There was no need.  
       After all, when Harry had been searching through the bodies after the battle, it was Draco’s name their Saviour was crying out in panic and fear, not Ginevra Weasley’s.  
       Harry tilted his head back some to get a better look at the blond’s face. He was wearing one of his few unguarded expressions. Most would call it blank. But Harry knew better. Malfoy was off in his own little world, thinking again. It could be moments, it could be hours before he spoke or moved again.  
       Closing his eyes, the younger sighed and contented himself with the companionable silence and continued to use Draco’s thigh as a pillow. He lay there for what felt like hours, but had only been a stretch of a few minutes before Draco spoke again.  
       ”Let’s leave the country,” he said, looking down at Harry again. The raven haired man blinked from behind his glasses.  
       ”What?”  
       “Let’s leave. Pack a bag or two and just… dissapear. You and I. Alone. With no one to bother us.”  
       ”I can’t. And you can’t. The trials-“  
       ”After the trials then.”  
       ”What about my friends? Your family?”  
       ”Chances are, Potter, my family will be in Azkaban. There’s nothing left for me here but you.”  
       ”And my friends? The Weasleys? Everyone who’s depending on me?”  
       Draco was silent again, his silver eyes calculating every nuance of Harry’s face. Reading him like a book, as he always had. Right from the start in first year. Then, he gave a small, gentle smile. Another one of those few faces that were reserved for Harry and Harry alone. Placing a hand on his lover’s orange clad chest, he sighed. “Harry,” he said, his voice smooth and soft. Lacking the haughty purebred arrogance that usually danced throughout his lover’s tone. “You’ve done what you were supposed to do. You killed Voldemort. You won. Do you honestly think you’ll be able to live in peace after that? I’m not saying to abandon your friends. That’s up to you. But you need to start thinking for yourself now.”  
       ”So your solution is to just run away with me?”  
       ”Well, you know I don’t like to share my toys.”  
       Harry couldn’t help it, and let out a small laugh. “Selfish brat.”  
       Draco continued to smile, but his voice was serious, despite its continued softness. “At least think about it. We could go someplace where no one knows who you are.”  
       ”I notice you didn’t mention no one knowing who _you_ are.”  
       ”I’m no one. Just the son of death eaters, who despite being a war hero is still considered the scum of the earth by those closest to the Chosen One.” His eyes softened as well, Harry noted. Just as they always did when he mentioned his parents. Even if vaguely in passing. “Wouldn’t you like to go out and just say, buy a cloak, without everyone snapping pictures and chasing you down with their abomnable quills?”  
       Harry had to admit that it was appealing. The promise of a nice, quiet life. The sort of thing he’d never had the chance to have. Just the oft dismissed hope of something, anything, if he managed to survive to adulthood. “Will you at least think about it? You could even tell the Weasel where you’re going if you really feel you must.”  
       The younger wizard stared up at him. Draco had repeated himself. He loathed repeating himself. Always had. So why had he just-  
       ”I didn’t repeat. I rephrased,” he said as if reading Harry’s mind. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps Harry’s thoughts showed on his face, in his skin, again.  
       At last, he gave a very subtle nod. “I’ll consider it,” he said. “But you have to be the one to find a place to live. I can’t even pick out shoes without the Daily Prophet predicting, acurrately, which pair I’m going to settle on.”  
       ”That’s because you’re predictable, love. Always have been.”  
       ”Am not.”  
       Draco laughed, shaking his head before leaning in to give him a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Did you know that people now refer to _expelliarmus_ as the  _Official_ _Harry Potter Disarming Spell_? And it’s not even been two months since the war ended.”  
       Harry blinked up at him once Draco had straightned back up. “Really? Am I really **that** predictable?”  
       ”Afraid so.”  
       ”You’re definately finding a new place to live then.”  
       ”Is that a yes?” Draco asked, hopeful.  
       ”It’s a maybe,” Harry replied. “Now about Ron and his guilt trip…”


End file.
